Page 5

5

Newcomers

Anya

“ I t is good to be back in Waldron-on-Wend,” Remy said, rolling off me and folding his lean arms behind his head.

As my heartbeat calmed, I turned my head on the pillow, staring at his mess of blond hair and the strong angle of his nose. “You know I take pride in being a welcoming host.”

“Your hospitality is unmatched.”

I’d heard the rumbling arrival of Remy’s wagon just as Hattie was pulling the hand-pies from the oven. Now, just past midnight, my body was pleasantly heavy from both the long workday and Remy’s attentions.

“Are you staying through Mirror Fest?” I asked, feigning casualness. “Eager to see your future?”

Remy shrugged noncommittally, then tugged me closer. “You know how I feel about the Mirrors.”

I might’ve downplayed my affection for Remy around Hattie, but in truth, I did care for him. He was charming, interesting, and funny. We’d met years ago, when he stayed here on his first trek as a newly minted merchant under the Lord Haron’s banner; he’d plopped down at the bar and proceeded to entertain me all night with tall-tales from the road.

The next time he came through Waldron, I’d taken him to bed, and thus began our covert pattern. I’d been the one to insist on secrecy, as I was not interested in responding to the town’s inevitable prying questions: Is there relationship potential? How can you stand his absence? Why give your time to a man who doesn’t find you worth staying in one place for?

The truth was, they were questions that plagued me, too, and I wanted to avoid the painful reminder of my lack of satisfying answers. His long absences could be hard, but what we had was also comfortingly predictable. His life was on the road; my life was here. Though it hurt sometimes, I’d long ago stopped wishing he’d surprise me by settling in Waldron. Coasting along was preferable to asking for what I truly wanted and learning that Remy didn’t find me worthy of the sacrifice.

After a long beat of silence, Remy added, “But I’ll stay for the festival if you want me to.”

“Really? I thought festivals were too ‘silly and quaint’ for you?” I said, repeating his words from the last time he’d passed through. I hadn’t had the heart to tell him that festivals were my most favorite thing—silly and quaint at times, sure, but also filled with meaning, celebration, connection.

“Why not? I could use a break from the road,” he replied, but didn’t elaborate.

“Well, I’d love for you to stay for Mirror Fest,” I said. “As the person planning the festivities, I guarantee it’ll be a good time.”

He slid his palm along my naked torso, cupping a breast. “Good times are always guaranteed when you’re around.”

“Then it’s settled,” I said, heart fluttering stupidly.

“Hopefully I’ll be able to find lodging,” Remy joked, “what with all the knights and out-of-towners soon to descend.”

“I think I can spare a room for you,” I said, playing along, “if you can spare a dance for me.”

“A dance ?” he said, drawing out his surprise. “Won’t your beloved, nosy neighbors start all sorts of nasty rumors if they see you dancing with a handsome fellow?”

“Handsome strangers abound during Mirror Fest,” I assured him. “It’s not a rare occurrence for me to dance with a few of them.”

Remy frowned. “Suddenly I’m regretting avoiding Waldron during festivals. Who else have you been dancing with?”

“Are you jealous?”

“Deeply,” Remy said, but his tone was good-humored.

It smarted like citrus in a scratch. Trying to shove down my desire for him to feel jealous for real , I slipped out of bed, wrapped myself in a long dressing gown, and poured us each a glass of fermented cider from the bottle on my vanity.

The room was dark and downright frigid. I’d left the hearth cold on purpose; my chimney had become clogged with debris during the first autumn storm, and filled my room with smoke every time I started a fire. Hattie was right: with or without Francis, I really needed to make time for repairs around here, before winter set in.

After tomorrow’s Fate Ceremony, of course.

Handing Remy a glass, I settled back under the covers, gown still wrapped tightly around my body.

“Tell me again why you’ve never looked in the Mirrors?” I asked, sipping my cold cider with a shiver.

Gazing into the Fate Mirrors wasn’t mandatory, but most folks—myself included—were too curious about the future not to. Remy’s abstention puzzled me, but I also found it admirable. Mysterious, even.

“Because I take comfort in not knowing my Fate,” Remy said. “What if I see something awful? I’d live the rest of my life in fear.”

“You could see something nice, though,” I pointed out. “Something to look forward to.”

“Seeing something nice wouldn’t make my life better.”

“I disagree,” I said, thinking of what I’d seen in the Mirror of Death, proof of a long life and peaceful end—the very thing my mother had been robbed of. “The Mirrors can provide hopefulness, even gratitude.”

“ If you see a favorable Fate,” Remy argued. “To me, it’s not worth the gamble.” He finished his cider and set the glass aside. “Will you look?”

“Of course,” I said. “Especially this time, what with it being the last year my Fate could change.”

“I heard about a man of ninety whose Fate changed,” Remy said. “Last year, over in Brine-on-Wend.”

“No way,” I said. “That must be rumor.”

“Apparently, the Mirror of Fortune showed him the path to a buried cache on his farm,” Remy said. “He found the crate of gold in the exact place the Mirror promised, and he gifted it to his granddaughter so she could travel to Fenrir City for an apprenticeship.”

“At the age of ninety, it sounds like he merely forgot his fortune and mistook the Mirror’s image for something new,” I said. “Did anyone else witness this change?”

Remy nodded. “A few folks from town confirmed it. I’m surprised word hasn’t spread more widely.”

Doubt and wonder swirled together in my chest. “Disbelief, probably. I’m having trouble believing it, myself. But, for the sake of argument—”

“It’s still not enough to convince me to look,” Remy interrupted, catching my meaning. “Especially now that my Fate is, supposedly, fixed. The last thing I need is to know is that I die a grizzly death and can’t do anything to stop it.”

Now it was my turn to entertain the story from Brine. “I don’t know,” I said at length. “If an old man’s Fate truly can change at ninety, perhaps Fate isn’t as fixed as they say. Wouldn’t you want to know about your death, to try and prevent it?”

He gave me a wry smirk. “I reckon everyone in Waldron over the age of thirty is having this exact conversation tonight.”

I smiled, about to argue a little more, when a sound outside caught my attention—not the whine from before, but a new note interrupting the predictable chords of wind, tree branches, and skittering nocturnal creatures. I lifted my head off Remy’s shoulder, focusing on the disturbance with my magic.

“What is it?” Remy whispered.

“Someone’s here.”